


someone call the witch doctor

by Quiverquill



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: #DimiclaudeBdayWeek2020, Blood, Curses, Dedue POV, M/M, Rituals, Witch Doctor!Claude, Witch!Lysithea, fairytales - Freeform, kinda dark?? not too bad i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25988491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiverquill/pseuds/Quiverquill
Summary: After surviving a demonic assassination attempt that wiped out the majority of the royal family, the young prince of Faerghus was cursed by an evil witch just as he escaped the tragedy. Bedridden and imprisoned within the castle walls with this affliction for nearly a decade, skilled healers from all across Fódlan attempt to cure him, to no avail.In a desperate attempt to finally break the curse and save his liege, Dedue crosses the Eastern border and seeks help from the last person the people of Faerghus would allow to see the prince – the renowned Witch Doctor of Almyra.(Written for Day 4 of Dimiclaude Birthday Week: Fairytales)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 75





	someone call the witch doctor

**Author's Note:**

> ooh ee, ooh ah ah, ting tang– ok no i'm sorry
> 
> I swear this isn't a Beauty and the Beast AU even though it kinda seems like it at points
> 
> Dimiclaude, but from Dedue's POV! Thought I'd try it out
> 
> Warning for mentions of self-harm, teeth injury, and xenophobia  
> Warning for blood, pain  
> Stay safe, please!

Dedue had grown accustomed to the sound of his liege's howling.

It was common knowledge that the Crown Prince had been unwell for years. But only in more recent times was the truth of his condition revealed– not only to the public, but also to his closest loved ones.

When the royal family was attacked and slaughtered by horrific demons, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd barely survived, and he did not escape unscathed. Nothing but a child, the young prince was nimble and quick – he alluded the demons, but an evil witch that had allied herself with the demons had flung a curse at his back as he fled.

The extent of the afflictions this curse caused was known not even to Dimitri himself, its abhorrent effects as numerous as they were debilitating. Granted, the healers weren't entirely sure what was a symptom of the curse and what was simply a byproduct of the prince's obvious trauma from what was later dubbed "the Tragedy." The magic used to hex him was entirely unfamiliar, and, perplexed, the healers took account of all the changes they found in the prince over the years in the hope of somehow breaking the horrid curse.

The once frail, puny boy now held the strength of a hundred men in his tiny clawed hands, liable to destroy everything he touched, no matter how gentle he wished to be. He could run with more speed than the great lion that had been proudly associated with his family for generations. His teeth had elongated, pointed like knives, and his sense of taste had been removed from him. The rest of his senses had sharpened considerably, to the point where the boy flinched at the slightest movement, even a butterfly's wing beat. The normally docile prince was now quick to become violent, though he seemed to be attempting to suppress the animalistic urges to fight, to maim, to subdue. Late at night, when all was quiet, the prince's wails of torment could be heard emanating from the tallest tower of the castle, echoing through the city streets.

The bone structure of his face changed as well, just slightly. It was barely noticeable, even to the people who'd known the prince since he was a baby. But once it was recognised, it was undeniable.

There was something… _beastly_ about him, something that hadn't been there before.

Dimitri's condition only worsened as the years passed. After several months of locking himself in his room away from the world, he finally resurfaced, only to find that the King Regent had named the land of Duscur as guilty of regicide, claiming that it was the birthplace of witchcraft (though it wasn’t), and responsible for the atrocities committed against the royal family.

He'd been appalled, rushing to Duscur to prevent any more mindless violence, but the land had already been torn to shreds, the people massacred. He gripped the only survivor he found like a lifeline, snapping and snarling at anyone who came near.

That was how Dedue met the Beast Prince.

Any attempt Dimitri made to reinstate a semblance of stability into his life was an absolute failure, the curse designed to tear apart the prince's life from the inside out. Over the years, his violent urges only grew, and the rug in his bed chambers had been dyed red with the blood of his own self-inflicted wounds. He became too afraid of himself to allow anyone to visit him anymore– not his closest friends, not even Dedue.

He locked himself in his tower once more, and the Kingdom became desperate.

Calls for the most talented, successful and remarkable healers were sent all across Fódlan, and the Beast Prince had been sedated as they tested their methods on him. The curse was unlike anything they'd ever seen, but they tried, regardless. Dedue was present for every procedure, every remedy, every attempt at _fixing_ his friend.

He was there for every disappointment.

Dedue knew that he would never truly understand Dimitri's pain. He'd never known the prince when he had been "human," so he couldn't fully comprehend the loss of the man the prince could've been. But he did know what it felt like to lose everything, and he'd be damned if he let it happen again.

The beginning of the end was set into motion when Dimitri called out for him one day, knowing that Dedue would be stationed outside his door despite the prince demanding that he be left alone.

Dedue had entered the room promptly and respectfully, ignoring the fact that this was the first time Dimitri had spoken to him in months. He had bowed to his liege, even though the prince had his back turned towards the door. Long, greasy locks of blonde hair draped over his shoulder muscles that pulled taut across his bones, his claws digging into flesh where they gripped his arms. The sharp metallic stench of blood stewed in the air despite the large window on the side of the round tower, the smell most likely emanating from the soiled, shredded sheets of the prince's bed.

Dedue had inhaled through his nose even so, refusing to let his nose wrinkle out of respect for his liege. "Your Highness, you summoned me?"

The Beast Prince did not turn around. His voice was nothing but a rasp. "...Leave."

Dedue nodded, confused yet compliant, turning to leave. The prince's mood was a fickle thing in his instability, and often he was subject to change his mind in mere seconds. Mercurial, that way. "As you wish, Your Highness."

"Wait." There was something in his voice, something with more intent than Dedue had heard in a long time, that made him stop in his tracks. "I revoke your indebtedness to me. You are to leave my service."

The prince still did not turn to look at him. "Your Highness, I cannot."

"You can, and you will." The greasy head had turned to the window to it's right, and from that angle Dedue could see the mangled eye that the prince had torn at in a fit of madness. "I– I told myself that I was protecting you by keeping you here, but… I was a fool to pretend that was my only intention." The milky eye darkened with self-loathing, still staring longingly in the direction of the window. "Leave this place, Dedue. Go, and live your life."

He'd taken a step forward; he'd never felt so panicked before, not since– "No, Your Highness, I can–"

 _"Leave._ That is an order."

That had been the last time Dedue had seen the Beast Prince.

He floundered for a short time after that, though admittedly it hadn't been very long ago, until he realised his dismissal was a blessing in disguise. The prince's curse was seemingly one-of-a-kind – the magic was entirely unknown to Fódlan. When Dedue was trapped in the tower alongside Dimitri, there was nothing he could do besides watch the prince slowly wither away to nothing, eaten alive by the curse. On the move, Dedue was free to do what the idiotic, self-centred nobles of the Faerghus court would never have been able to do.

Following the rumours of mystical remedies and death-defying potions, Dedue set sail and crossed the eastern border, looking for the one that people called the Witch Doctor.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


The Witch Doctor's hideout was surprisingly close to the mountains that separated Almyra from Fódlan, far from the city that Dedue had docked in. It was a cavernous place, shielded from the scorching sun, the walls cool and slightly damp.

Dedue knocked thrice on the old wooden door, the low ceiling forcing him to curl his back lest his head graze stone. Small candles hidden behind coloured glass lit the entryway, hanging from the walls and ceiling alongside strange charms, and chimes that tinkled when Dedue brushed against them. Combined with the knocking, it was doubtful that the inhabitant of this hideout was not aware of Dedue's presence at the door. Even so, there was no answer.

Dedue shuffled in place, chimes jangling, unsure if anyone was home. "Hello?" he called out through the door. "Pardon my intrusion. I'm looking for the Witch Doctor. I need their help."

At his call, there was an abundance of movement from inside the hideout, the banging of doors, the screech of furniture pushed across wooden floorboards, and the sound of someone yelling before the front door was yanked open, revealing a young white-haired woman draped in coloured fabrics and beads. She was positively tiny, and her pink eyes squinted up at Dedue from her place in the doorway– the light of the midday sun behind him probably made his face quite difficult to see.

After a moment of silence, she spoke. "What do you want?"

Dedue hazarded a glance behind her, but the entryway was very small, and all he could see was a green wall and a smooth stone floor. He bowed to the woman respectfully. "My name is Dedue Molinaro. I have come here from Faerghus, looking for the one they call the Witch Doctor."

She scowled at him, before eyeing him scrutinizingly. "You’re not a man of Faerghus."

"Indeed, I am not. I am from Duscur."

She blinked, clearly surprised, before nodding approvingly. "And why are you here, Molinaro of Duscur?”

“Just Dedue is fine, thank you.” She scowled at him, and Dedue felt fear crawl up his throat. He supposed that wasn’t very polite. Why was this tiny lady so terrifying? “I have come here in search of the one they call the Witch Doctor. I am in dire need of their help.” He didn’t dare offer anything more than that for fear of her turning him away.

She raised a white eyebrow. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, but I’m afraid he’s not here right now.” She looked him up and down, before opening the door wider and stepping to the side. “You’ve probably travelled far, if you came from Fódlan. Come on in – Claude should be back soon.”

Relief flooded Dedue’s chest. He ducked his head under the narrow doorway, voicing his thanks for her hospitality, to which she didn’t reply. She walked ahead of him, turning a corner in the entryway. Dedue followed wordlessly, finding that it led into the main chamber of the shelter. He paused shortly after, taking in his surroundings.

It seemed that the entire shelter was just one large room, disregarding one small closed door in the corner. The room itself was… extravagant to say the least, not in a way that spoke of riches but rather of knowledge. Large bookshelves lined the walls, sagging slightly under the weight of dozens of thick, leather bound books, the titles brandished across their spines written in several different languages. Dedue recognised the characters of Almyra, Fódlan, and even Duscur written there, as well as many more that he had never seen before. A small set of stairs led down to the chamber from the entryway, thankfully letting Dedue stretch out his spine once more. There were more stairs on the far side of the room, leading to a small garden of fascinating-looking plants that grew under a strange ball of artificial light encased in a glass jar that hung from the ceiling by a thick piece of yarn. The plain off-white walls were covered in peculiar symbols, splashed on with paint of varying colours, and an abundance of intricate charms hung off the walls and ceiling. A large shelf held many bottles of unidentifiable liquids as well as cuttings of some of the strange plants from the indoor garden. The shelf itself was kept as far from the artificial light as the room would allow.

Opened books and papers were haphazardly strewn across almost every surface in the room, including the stone floor, most of the contents handwritten with ink. One book hung off the lip of the cauldron that sat in the corner. The young woman strode confidently through the mess, and drew out two chairs from the table in the centre of the room, motioning for Dedue to sit. As he made himself relatively comfortable, the woman unforgivingly shoved many books and papers out of the way, and placed a small, cheerfully decorated teacup in front of him, pouring him a drink from a similarly cheerful teapot.

Dedue waited for her to drink before taking a sip of his own. It tasted of pine needles, but far too sweet for his personal liking; someone must have dumped a heap of sugar into the teapot. The woman seemed to like it, though. Her cup clinked loudly as she placed it atop her saucer on the table. “So,” she began, “what exactly do you need Claude’s help with?”

He hummed, setting down his own cup, a lot quieter than she had. “Claude. The Witch Doctor, I presume?” 

She nodded, taking another sip of her tea. “Ah, yes. I guess I didn’t tell you my name, either.” He shook his head. “I’m Lysithea. Now, answer my question.”

Dedue paused, wondering if he should tell this strange woman his plight. She seemed very distrusting when he mentioned that he came here from Faerghus, which would make sense if she was a witch, as was most likely. Faerghus had become hostile towards witches of every kind after the death of the king, and that prejudice had infected the rest of Fódlan until they’d all disappeared.

He was taking a gamble coming here, and it was likely that it was only his Duscur origin that prevented Lysithea from kicking him out. Disregarding her name, her pale skin and accent betrayed her immediately as a former citizen of Fódlan, and it wasn’t improbable that she’d been driven out of her homeland. He had no reason to believe that a witch would be willing to help the prince of Faerghus, but… he had no one else to turn to. He decided it best not to tell Lysithea all of the details, lest she figure out who he worked for. 

“My… friend,” he started carefully, “he’s been cursed. He has lived for a long time now with this terrible affliction, but I fear he can’t go on for much longer.”

Lysithea’s pink eyes widened, and something very sad settled within them. “A curse? That _is_ bad.” She stared at her teacup in great concentration, swirling its contents. “Not a lot of people know how to curse someone. Even fewer know how to break one. And not every curse is the same, that way… it’s possible that there could be no way of saving your friend.”

Dedue felt his stomach drop like a stone, but shook his head. Though he’d never been told this before, he knew that breaking a curse wouldn’t be easy. He couldn’t give up now, this was his liege’s last chance. “Please, you must help him. You will be compensated for your time, whether or not his curse is broken.”

The young woman sighed, as if she was all too familiar with this situation. “I’ll admit that Claude has… experience, when it comes to dealing with curses.” She took a sip from her drink. “He’s not a miracle worker, though. Curses become stronger the longer they have a chance to settle into your body, and you said your friend has had it for a while.” Another sip. “How long has he had it for?”

“About ten years.”

She nearly spat out her tea.

Dedue handed her a napkin he kept in his pocket while she choked and spluttered. She yanked it out of his hands and coughed into it a few times, before heaving at him incredulously. “Ten _years?!_ He’s been cursed for _ten years?_ How is he still alive? _”_

Dedue bent his head in a show of solemnity. “He was losing himself, but he was still fighting it when I saw him last, a month ago.”

“Ten years…” Lysithea repeated to herself. “In a more ordinary situation, I would write off anyone longer than two years as a lost cause. But your friend clearly isn’t ordinary.” She stood from her chair, staring at Dedue with resolve. “Being cursed is a hellish existence– no one should suffer like that for so long.”

Dedue stared back at her with hope flooding his chest – she was so small that he didn’t need to look up from where he sat to meet her gaze – and he his grip on the handle of his cup tightened in anticipation. “So… you will help him?”

Lysithea’s pink eyes glinted. “You have my approval, at least. But that’s not my decision to make. We’d best ask Claude what he thinks first.” She turned towards the mess of books and papers, shoving her hands into the pile and rifling through it, as if looking for something hidden within it. “Ugh, where did I put that damn wand? It’d be way easier to find if Claude would just _clean up_ after himself for once– ah! There it is.” She pulled out her hand to reveal a small, strangely fashioned wand composed of deformed and twisted ivory. Four short spokes stuck out the end of it, and when she patted the flat side of the object against her palm, they bobbed in place as if they weren’t fastened on properly.

She turned back to Dedue. “That Witch Doctor has kept us waiting long enough, hasn’t he?” Without waiting for a reply, she flicked the wand in her hands skywards, and an amalgamation of pink light burst from the floor directly in front of Dedue. He yelped, scooting backwards off his chair and knocking it over.

The pink light was gone in a flash, and in its place stood a man finely dressed in various patterned fabrics loosely wrapped around his frame, his face turned away from Dedue, a vial of dubious content held up close to his face as if he’d been inspecting it closely before he had been brought here. He startled in place for a moment before seemingly recognising his surroundings, considering how his tense shoulders slumped when he turned to Lysithea.

“Lys!” the man scolded, waving the vial at her. “I told you not to summon me here while I’m out shopping! You didn’t give me a chance to pay for this!”

She huffed at him, defensive. “Well, how was I supposed to know? It’s not like you bothered to tell me where you went!”

“I left a _note_ , you know.”

“A _note?_ You expect me to find a single note in this mess?!” She held up her wand as if to silence him before he could reply. “Oh, forget it,” she toned, signalling behind the man at Dedue. “You have a customer, Claude.”

The Witch Doctor whirled around immediately at those words, and a bright smile stretched across his face, his previous annoyance having vanished instantly. His skin was far darker than Lysithea’s – clearly native to Almyra – and his green eyes were strangely piercing when paired with his face. Perhaps it was how his easy smile didn’t soften his gaze that made his common eye colour seem just as unnerving as Lysithea’s pink hue.

At first glance, Claude was a nobody. A completely normal man, a random stranger, a simple citizen of Almyra. He actually seemed quite approachable, what with the smile he wore so confidently.

With the knowledge of who he _truly_ was, however… there was something about the man that made Dedue’s hair stand on end, that sent a chill through him, that sat in the air around him. There was something there… something…

Frightening.

“Ah! My apologies!” the Witch Doctor laughed, swiftly taking Dedue’s hand and shaking it. “I wasn’t aware that we had a guest! Might I ask for a name?”

Dedue startled slightly, but caught himself quickly. This was the man that would decide if Dimitri lived or not; he could not afford to mess this up. He stood back and bowed low to the man, straightening up to see a pleasantly surprised curve to Claude’s smile. “I am Dedue Molinaro of Duscur. I have come from Fódlan seeking the Witch Doctor. Are you he?”

The man’s smile widened. “Yep, that’s me. You’ll find my actual work name is just Claude, though. Folks tend to throw around titles like that, and they stick, whether you want them to or not.” Delicately pushing some papers out of the way, Claude sat back on the table, making himself comfortable by crossing his ankles from where they hung above the ground. The elevated furniture brought him a little closer to Dedue’s eye level, something he kept even when he leaned forward by keeping his chin high. “Now, Dedue, what could possibly be the reason for you to travel so far to see little ol’ me, huh? Need a glamour to blend in with the people of Fódlan? Want a potion that would be the antidote to every poison imaginable? Maybe… you need help dealing with the problem of an unresponsive–”

“His friend is cursed,” Lysithea cut in, fed up with Claude’s waffling, “has been for a decade. Think you can handle this one?”

Claude turned to Lysithea, sending her a look that seemed to say _we’re gonna have a talk about this later_ as she huffed and rolled her eyes, leaving the room through a small door in the far corner. Turning back to Dedue, Claude’s smile was much less bright as the severity of the situation darkened his mood.

“A curse,” he repeated, “is that right?”

Dedue nodded. “Indeed, your assistant speaks the truth.”

He jumped slightly when Claude barked out a laugh. “My assistant? Don’t let her hear you calling her that!” Dedue made to stutter out an apology, but Claude waved him off. “Tell me about this friend of yours. Has he really been cursed for ten years?”

Dedue felt apprehension sting his throat. Would the Witch Doctor refuse to help him, if Dedue told him that he came here on behalf of the Prince of Faerghus? “Yes. He’s been cursed ever since he was a boy. It has… changed him, but I believe he’s still in there.”

“Changed, huh? That sounds about right, for someone who’s been cursed for so long. Where is he now?”

“He lives in Faerghus, in the north of Fódlan.” It was vague, intentionally so. Anyone who knew the geography of Fódlan would realise this, and Claude likely did, but an ordinary man of Almyra wouldn’t normally be privy to that kind of information. Dedue could easily be perceived as trying not to overwhelm someone with too much information of an unfamiliar land.

Dedue could see the gears turn in Claude’s head behind those calculating eyes. “Faerghus, you say?” His voice quietened, and he seemed distracted. “I guess I always knew that I’d end up there, one day…” He shook his head, jumping off the table. A mischievous grin stretched across his face. 

“Well,” Claude said cheerily, clapping his hands together, “wouldn’t want to keep His Highness waiting, would we? He’s done it for long enough already.”

_Wait–_

_"What?_ How did you–”

“Lys!” the Witch Doctor called through the hideout, ignoring Dedue’s bewilderment. “Grab the warp staff– we’re off to Fhirdiad!”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


“We’re not going to be slung in chains for wandering the castle without permission, are we, Dedue?”

The empty halls of the servants’ wing echoed with every step they took, their quiet footfalls sounding more like the clang of a blacksmith’s forging hammer. The two of them had been warped there by Lysithea (which had been an extremely disorientating experience), and Dedue led the way towards Dimitri’s tower. While his question had been framed as a joke, Claude seemed nervous– no, not nervous, not with that smile, but the way his eyes darted down every hallway they passed betrayed a wariness in him that was long ingrained into his psyche.

It was not irrational. A man of Duscur and a witch – the Fhirdiad soldiers would be well inclined to spear them both through with lances on sight. But Claude was not dressed as a witch, and Dedue carried with him the insignia of the prince, something Dimitri had given him many years ago in order to protect him from jumpy new recruits who wouldn’t recognise him. Still, Dedue knew which areas of the castle to avoid if he valued his own safety.

Dedue turned to Claude, shaking his head. “That would be unlikely. So long as His Highness is alive, we are safe to roam this place as we wish.”

Claude blinked. "So, you have his favour, do you?" Dedue could hear in his voice that Claude was not wholly convinced. He still believed that they were in danger. _Why would the prince trust you, a man of Duscur?_ Dedue tried to comfort him to the best of his ability, unwilling to let Claude feel compelled to turn tail and warp back to Almyra.

"I was His Highness's vassal, until a month ago, when he revoked me of my position." He saw Claude's shoulders tense – he'd said something wrong. "Do not fret, however; His Highness would not have told anyone this, as no one cares to visit him, and oftentimes he only speaks in grunts or other such noises."

Claude did not seem any less tense than before. "Right. That's… reassuring." He casually rolled his neck around his shoulders as they turned another blind corner, eyeing all vantage points while stretching his neck. "Anything else I should know about the prince before we arrive at his extraordinarily secluded tower in the most deserted section of the castle?"

Dedue touched his thumb against his chin for a moment, pondering on what would be important information for Claude to know. He didn't know what procedure the Witch Doctor was planning to undertake, so he decided to tell him what he would tell a more common physician.

"His Highness can be quite hostile towards strangers–" Claude laughed wryly– "especially doctors." The laugh twisted into a painful sounding cough. Dedue made to give Claude his napkin, but realised it was still back in Almyra, with Lysithea. He would probably never get it back. That was unfortunate.

Claude cleared his throat, hitting himself in the chest with the side of his fist. "Not a big fan of doctors, you say? Why's that? Does he not like the taste of my potions?" He patted the leather bag he had strung around his shoulder.

"No." Dedue frowned, a sour memory coming to him. "He will likely presume that you mean to remove his cursed body parts with tools, or feed him a concoction that will leave him writhing in agony for days on end."

Claude whirled on him, his easy smile slipping with his shock. "W–" he coughed again, hitting his chest– "what kind of doctors do you have in Fódlan that would do something like that?! To their prince, no less!"

"Very few have managed to harm him, as I have made sure of it myself. I was adamant to be present for every procedure." Dedue had learned from his mistakes. Once, when he had been away when tending to the garden, one of Dimitri's so called 'healers' had removed each and every one of the prince's sharpened teeth while he was under the dark of ether. They had all grown back horrifyingly quickly, and the prince had lost his voice to his screaming long before his pain had ended.

A few more incidents later, and Dedue had completely abandoned his free time and hobbies in order to guard the prince during all of his waking hours.

Claude shook his head, his shock melting away and replaced with a more neutral face. His smile was still missing. "Locked away, experimented on– makes me wish I'd turned up sooner." He didn't look at Dedue, instead facing forward towards their destination. They were nearing the tower now. "I probably would've, if I'd known he was alive. Kinda difficult to keep track of rumours from over there, but I guess I didn't try too hard in the first place." His voice was low, reluctant, as if he was telling a secret.

Claude sounded… guilty. Dedue didn't respond.

Reaching the base of the tower, Dedue procured a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, the door hinges squealing as he opened it. They ascended the stone stairs in silence, Claude swimming in his thoughts. Dedue didn't attempt to speak to him, figuring that Claude would appreciate the time to think before he was to perform a near miracle.

They reached the top of the spiral staircase after what felt like a century, Claude shaking out his hands and slapping another fake smile on his face while Dedue procured the tower's chamber key from another pocket.

The grin was pointed in Dedue's direction. "So, I assume you'll want to watch me work my magic?"

Was he being literal? "I have to insist that you are not left alone with His Highness. It is a necessary precaution."

With that, Dedue unlocked the door.

The room was dark, as always, the midday sunlight strangled by the shredded curtains that hung in front of the only window. The remnants of the fur rug that had been placed on the floor had been torn and repurposed as a heavy cloak that the prince kept wrapped around his shoulders for warmth, as there was no fireplace in the round room. Dimitri sat on his cot in the middle of the room, the weight of him causing the rickety wooden frame to sag underneath him.

It was mostly the light of the doorway that allowed his large profile to be seen, huddled and tense, with his back to the door, his front forever drawn towards the minimal light from the window. The curtains haven’t been opened in years; Dimitri never allowed anyone far enough into the room to do so, and he never seemed to sleep, no matter what time of night it was.

The light from the doorway very quickly caught the prince’s attention, his head rising like a predator that had been intruded upon, and the deafening shrieking of the old door’s hinges caused him to whip around, snarling.

 _“Get out!”_ he snapped at them, his sharp teeth bared, his single blue eye wincing at the light in the doorway.

“Your Highness,” Dedue called out to him, calmly, patiently, “I have returned.”

Clarity shone through Dimitri’s gaze, his hackles lowering. “Dedue?” he called back, his voice weak with pain. He shifted in place on the cot, turning his lower body to face the door, his eyes (both damaged and otherwise) blinking as his sight adjusted to the stark shift of brightness in the room. “W-why are you here?” His voice was sharp and tinged with anger. “I told you to _leave._ Or… have you come to haunt me, as well?”

Dedue shook his head, quick to attempt to console his liege when he recognised fear in his voice. “I brought with me someone who may be able to help, Your Highness. He has travelled a great distance to be here. I ask that you allow him to see you.”

“I won’t,” Dimitri growled, turning to the curtains again. “Go away, _both_ of you. Don’t come back.”

“Your Highness–”

“If I may,” Claude started, slinking past Dedue and into the room, “I’d like to introduce myself, _before_ you send me back where I came from. I’m Claude, by the way! Positively charmed to meet you, Your Highness.”

Dimitri had turned around once more, ready to snap at the stranger who _dared_ to enter his room, before he froze in place, eyes widening at the sight of Claude. Dedue recognised the feeling that went through those blue eyes, the same impression that he’d received from Claude when he first set eyes upon him, the same feeling that had struck him when he’d met Lysithea, though to a lesser degree. That instinct that sang through his blood, that told him he was conversing with something dangerous, frightening.

It seemed that Dimitri was familiar with that feeling.

 _“Witch!”_ the prince hissed, scrambling backwards on his cot to put more distance between himself and Claude. His teeth were bared viciously, but he cowered in on himself, deathly terrified of the man in front of him. “D-Dedue, run! Get away from him!”

Dedue jolted in place, Dimitri’s sudden hostility shocking his system to unresponsive ice. Claude reacted before Dedue could think to placate his liege, the Witch Doctor slowly holding up his hands in surrender. Dimitri flinched violently at the delicate motion.

“Easy there, Your Princeliness,” Claude soothed lightly, like he was talking to a spooked animal. “I’m not gonna hurt you, nor your friend for that matter. Dedue here asked me to help you.” He nodded his head gently in Dedue’s direction, his hands not moving from their position. “He’s awfully worried about you, you know.”

Dimitri seemed to shrink in on himself, shaking violently, his clawed hands moving in front of him by gripping his sheets instead of his arms. It seemed like the Beast Prince was fighting the urge to pounce, his rational fear of the consequences only barely preventing his more basic instincts from lashing out. He spoke in a hostile rasp, his throat having closed up in terror. Though he never took his eyes off Claude, his words were addressed towards Dedue.

"Y-you _knew_ that he was a witch... why would you bring him here?!"

"Claude has the power to break your curse, Your Highness. He can help you." Dedue bowed low to his liege, hoping that the sweeping movement would still be seen out of the corner of Dimitri's eye. "I would _never_ have brought him here if he had any intention of harming you, Your Highness. You have my word."

He saw Dimitri's eyes fill with relief, but his body was still stiff and wired with tension. To his side, Dedue saw Claude give the prince a soft, regretful smile, perhaps the truest one he'd ever seen from the Witch Doctor yet.

"You're safe now, Dimitri," Claude said. "Let me help you."

Dedue wondered if the Witch Doctor had cast some sort of verbal spell, for the prince held his tension for only a moment longer before he slumped in recognition of Claude's words, his body relaxing as he finally let go of his anxiety. In all his years of service, Dedue had never seen the Beast Prince look so weary before, and so vulnerable.

Perhaps the prince was simply resigned to his fate.

"Please," Dimitri begged quietly, hanging his head. "Just make it stop."

Claude was already moving closer before Dedue could stop him, placing a comforting hand on the heavy fur of the prince's cloaked shoulder, leaning down so he didn't tower over the prince where he stood beside his cot. Dimitri thankfully didn't lash out, only looking up to stare back at Claude's eyes, his face looking pitifully lost.

It was at that point that, to Dedue, it seemed that Claude had a far better handle on this situation than anyone else could have, even Dedue himself.

"Can do, Your Princeliness," Claude said, giving Dimitri a playful wink. The prince clearly didn't know how to react. "Breaking curses just so happens to be my speciality."

Dimitri stared at him like the man had been sent from his Fódlan goddess. "W-who are you?"

The Witch Doctor laughed, sitting on the cot beside Dimitri. "Forget already? The name's Claude – though, I guess some people like to refer to me as the _'Witch Doctor,'_ or _'Master Warlock,'_ or _'Curse Breaker Extraordinaire.'"_ He scratched his finely shaped beard in amusement. "Have to say, that last one's a personal favourite of mine."

The prince looked bemused, nodding uncomprehendingly. "I'm… Dimitri. At least, I used to be."

Claude's eyes widened at that, and he turned his head, looking to Dedue. Dedue frowned at the Witch, nodding solemnly, hoping to convey that Dimitri had believed this about himself for quite some time.

Claude laughed it off. "Well, Your Princeliness, it may come as a surprise, but I already know who _you_ are." He called to Dedue before Dimitri could respond, the prince's face sheepishly flushed. "Dedue, mind opening those curtains? I need to be able to get a good look at our friend here."

Dedue nodded and stepped towards the window, eager to help in any way he could, but Dimitri jumped at his movements. 

"No!" the prince snarled at him, his familiar ferocity coming back as his claws tore into his ruined sheets. "Don't you dare!"

Dedue halted immediately, obeying his liege's command. Claude clicked his tongue at the prince. "Your Princeliness, I can barely see you in this light, let alone help you. Won't you allow your good friend here to draw back the curtains?"

Dimitri shook his head, stubbornly headstrong.

"And why’s that?”

“The light,” Dimitri gritted out, “it _burns.”_

The light hurt him? Dedue frowned. His liege had never told anyone this before, preferring to snap and snarl at people rather than tell them of his pain. Dedue wondered how many other horrible symptoms the prince had lived with that he’d never told anyone about. Perhaps he hadn’t told anyone because no one had ever asked the right questions. The prince’s station (and likely his monstrous appearance) made people hesitant to poke and prod at him.

Claude was steadfast, however. “I promise you, Dimitri, it won’t last long.”

His liege stared at the Witch Doctor, clearly considering outwardly refusing, but eventually conceded. “ _Fine._ Just… make it quick.”

Claude nodded. “Alright, that can be arranged.” He reached out, grabbing Dimitri’s cloak. The prince growled at him but let him continue, and Claude’s arms reached up and behind Dimitri’s head, cocooning the prince and making the large man look very small. “Dedue, once you have opened the curtains, take this from me and hold it up in order to shield Dimitri from the sun.”

“Understood.”

“Dimitri,” Claude called. The prince huffed to show he was listening, the cloak casting a shadow that made it impossible to see his face from Dedue’s standpoint. “I want you to cover your eyes with your hands, but I will ask you to slowly remove them. Do not move too quickly, and do not let your claws dig into your face. Listen carefully to all of my instructions.” Another huff, and there was a ripping noise as Dimitri tore his claws out of his cot.

Claude nodded at him, and Dedue pulled back the curtains.

Light immediately flooded the room, as did the sound of Dimitri’s howls of pain. Dedue was sorely tempted to close the curtains again, but Claude had tossed the fur cloak in his direction, forcing him to catch it to protect his liege. From above the prince, Dedue could see how Claude had grabbed the prince’s wrists from where his palms were pressed against his eyes. Dimitri’s shaking fingers were completely outstretched, held as far as possible from his face, and small spots of blood decorated his claws. Similar spots of blood freckled the prince’s forehead.

The wounds weren’t very deep at all, as if Dimitri had caught himself before he caused more severe damage. That seemed impossible, however, as the prince was clearly very unaware of his surroundings right now, writhing in agony from where he was seated on his cot. He hadn’t pulled away from Claude, either, who had a firm grip on his wrists and spoke to him softly.

“It’s alright, Dimitri,” Claude murmured, “this will pass. Ride it out. Breathe with me, okay?”

Claude started counting, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Dimitri hissed in breaths through his teeth, attempting to follow along. Dedue was shocked that the prince hadn’t lashed out yet, seeing his arm muscles quiver with strain. He wondered if it had anything to do with Claude’s grip on his wrists– an immobilising spell, perhaps?

“No, no, in through the nose, out through the mouth. With me… that’s it…”

Eventually Dimitri calmed enough (or perhaps had grown used to the pain) so that he could remove his hands from his face. His eyes were wet and bloodshot, barely able to open, and it pained Dedue deeply to do this to his liege, even knowing that it was necessary. Claude had removed his hands from the prince’s wrists, instead pressing his palms against Dimitri’s face, closing inspecting his eyes. He didn’t seem at all repulsed by the prince’s mangled right eye.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions now,” Claude said seriously, though his expression was soft and comforting. “I want you to do your best to answer.”

Dimitri groaned his assent.

“How’s the pain? Is it weaker than before?”

Dimitri shook his head minutely, so much so that Dedue had almost missed it. Claude didn’t seem happy with that answer.

“Alright. Tell me, what colour are my eyes?”

The prince’s voice was a near inaudible croak. _“Red.”_

Claude’s brow furrowed. “What else is red?”

_“Ev’rythi-ng.”_

Dedue frowned at this new information – Is that what the prince saw? A world bathed in blood? – but he refused to interrupt the process with his own feelings of distress. Claude himself didn’t react to Dimitri’s answer. “Okay,” he murmured softly, slowly, “one last question. If Dedue were to drop that cloak he’s holding, would you still be able to recognise him?”

Dimitri was silent for a moment, before his face crumbled with shame.

He shook his head.

Claude hummed, removing one of his hands from the prince’s face to rub circles into Dimitri’s shoulder. The Witch Doctor was quiet, not saying a thing, but it was obvious that his mind was moving at a mile a minute. His eyes darted across every section of Dimitri’s face, as if each and every one of his pores had a secret to tell. He pulled back slightly, looking the prince up and down, eyes landing on his claws for a moment, before he finally finished his inspection by meeting Dimitri’s miserable gaze. 

Claude took his hands off the prince and instead grabbed the cloak, all without breaking eye contact. “Close the curtains, Dedue.”

Dedue let go of the fur mantle and stepped back, drawing the curtains shut.

Dimitri’s breath left him in a rush, a heavy sigh of relief escaping him as the room was plunged into darkness once more. Dedue felt equally relieved that his liege was no longer being tortured by the light of the window. 

Claude had already dropped the cloak back onto Dimitri’s shoulders, reaching his arms into the air as he stretched his back like a cat, his joints popping. “Wow, okay, I forgot how dark it was in here. But I guess I can still work with this.”

Dedue watched as his liege rubbed at his eyes, his claws digging into his palms. He turned to Claude. “So, do you think you’ll be able to help him?” Dedue asked quietly.

There was another fake smile on Claude’s face, and Dedue wondered if it was for his sake, or for Dimitri’s. “I’ll see what I can do,” he replied, dancing around the question, and removed his leather bag from his shoulder, rummaging through its contents. “Really hard to see what’s in here… Is this it? No… ah!” He pulled out something small and held it in Dedue’s direction. “Mind holding this for a sec?”

“Of course.” Dedue took it from him, finding that the object was a glass vial that held a shining golden liquid inside. The liquid glowed bright, but strangely enough, it didn’t cast any light upon Dedue’s fingers where they touched the vial.

Dimitri stared at Dedue in shock, and Dedue was confused before he realised his liege was transfixed by the potion. The prince did not react adversely to it, so he was likely in awe of how the elixir’s light did not hurt him.

Claude smiled at his liege, laughter in his voice. “You look confused, Your Princeliness.” That wasn’t exactly the word Dedue would have given Dimitri’s expression. “Got a question for me?”

Dimitri pointed a clawed finger at the vial. “W… what is that?” His voice was stronger in the darkness, though it was airy with astonishment.

Claude pretended to be surprised by his question. “Oh, that?” He reached out to take the vial back, Dedue giving it to him readily. “Odd little thing, isn’t it? It’s a potion of my own invention; I call it Liquid Light.” He held it up to his face as if to scrutinise it. “It’s a bit difficult to make… I almost didn’t bring it. Thankfully, I did, ‘cause I’m pretty sure it’s just what we need– this and a few other things.”

Dimitri’s look of amazement turned to one of apprehension. “...It will cure me? You’re sure?”

“Well, your curse is an uncommon one, Dimitri. The witch who cast this certainly went out of her way to prevent it from being broken.” Dimitri growled at the mention of her, and Claude patted his arm comfortingly. “For example, I can tell that you would need light to break this curse, so she made sure that having light shine on you would cause you pain, and force you to become violent even with those you love. She likely knew that you would gain a fear of witches, so your curse also requires the… uh, _presence_ of a witch for it to be broken.” Dedue nodded diligently to show he was listening. Dimitri hummed, toneless and indifferent, likely annoyed that Claude had once again avoided answering the question.

Satisfied that they both understood, Claude put down the vial and placed a hand on Dimitri’s wrist. The prince stiffened at the contact, before becoming lax, and Claude seemed to take that as an opportunity to reach down with his other hand and pull a dagger from his boot. Dimitri jerked at the sight of the weapon, but Claude’s hand squeezed his wrist gently, making the prince relax once more. Dedue wondered again if Claude had cast some sort of immobilisation spell, or perhaps it was simply some sort of calming spell?

Claude turned to Dedue quite abruptly, removing him from his thoughts. “Tell me, Dedue: how far would you go for His Princeliness over here, if it meant that he’d be safe?”

Dedue felt his blood run cold. He remembered once upon a time, when he was younger, a moment in that very tower when the Beast Prince had lost control of himself again. He’d clawed and pulled at his hair, and when the healers had attempted to subdue him, he’d thrown them all off, swiping at them with a terrifying roar. One of the healers, a man who had always been extremely impatient and unforgiving, had pulled a knife to protect himself, and Dedue remembers thinking that Dimitri would easily overpower that man, would kill him to save himself, and that the healers would decide that the prince was far too dangerous to be left alive. Castle guards had stormed the room before the man could attack, subduing him and herding everyone out of the room.

But Dedue remembered that moment when the man pulled that knife, remembered the thought that flashed through his mind – that if the skirmish were to turn deadly, Dedue would take the lives of all the other people in the room, if it meant that Dimitri would survive.

“I’d give my life,” Dedue answered Claude finally. “All in the service of His Highness. I am both his sword and his shield.”

Dimitri’s head hung low at his answer, his long hair hiding his expression from view.

Claude smiled, nodding. “Good. You seem very sure of yourself. Hold out your hand.”

Dedue did as he asked. The handle of the dagger was pressed into his palm.

He startled, but Dimitri was already snarling before he could fully comprehend the many implications behind the weapon. The prince had grabbed Claude’s arm, his claws not quite digging in but it was likely that he was squeezing the appendage painfully with brutish strength.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Dimitri roared at Claude, his eye wild. “I will _not_ have Dedue hurt for my sake!”

“It’s not a lot!” Claude cut in quickly, a hand fanning the air in front of him to placate Dimitri’s obvious panic. “He just needs to draw a bit of his own blood – not much! Obviously, the more the better, but he can give as much as he wants.

Dimitri was unconvinced, no longer shouting but still growling at Claude, and the witch was beginning to wince slightly at the pressure being placed on his arm. Dedue cleared his throat, hoping to catch the prince’s attention. “Your Highness, it would be an honour for me to offer my blood as a contribution towards your wellbeing. And – if you would pardon me for speaking so freely – a mere drop of blood is nothing to me. I would give it gladly, if it was at all beneficial to you.”

Dimitri stared at him, his grip loosening on Claude. He looked guilty, as he always did, when Dedue reminded him of his loyalty. His liege had once admitted to him that he felt he didn’t deserve it, and Dedue had never been able to convince him otherwise. Dedue didn’t like upsetting the prince, so he didn’t speak of it often.

Right now, however, Dimitri needed the reminder.

The prince was silent for a moment, before he let go of Claude. He didn’t apologise to the witch, though he did seem slightly sheepish. “Your choice is not second to mine, Dedue, but neither is your life. You may offer blood from your hand. Give no more than what is necessary.” His tone was not unkind, but it was final, and left no room for argument.

Dedue nodded, and immediately sliced the knife across his palm. Claude jumped slightly, as if he hadn’t expected Dedue to do it so readily. Even so, he took Dedue’s hand and pressed the lip of an empty vial to the wound, watching as blood dribbled inside the glass bottle. Dedue bit his tongue to prevent himself from making any noises of discomfort in front of his liege, his hand burning like fire.

Dimitri didn’t watch.

The vial seemed to take forever to fill. His hand turned numb, though his fingers still twitched involuntarily, but eventually it was full and was corked. The vial was so small, however, and no matter how difficult it was to lift his arm that suddenly weighed a ton, Dedue felt that that couldn’t have been enough. “Another,” he said to the Witch Doctor, who eyed him worriedly. “I’m still bleeding, I can fill another.”

“You will _not,”_ Dimitri snarled, and Claude was already pulling a roll of bandages out of his bag, along with a bottle of clear liquid and a cloth.

“I have to agree with His Princeliness,” Claude chided lightly, pouring the clear liquid on the cloth, “thanks for the help, but we don’t wanna overdo it, now, do we?” He pressed the soaked cloth to the wound, and immediately Dedue felt all the nerves in his hand cry out in protest as his palm stung like a swarm of Duscur hornets. He couldn’t suppress a wince, shame filling him when he saw his liege stiffen out the corner of his eye. 

Claude pretended not to notice this, a peppy smile stretching across his face as he wrapped Dedue’s hand. “Now,” he started, “onto our next order of business. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that I don’t need you to do much else, Dedue.”

Was he truly not needed, or did Claude believe he could no longer serve due to a mere flesh wound? He watched Claude’s face closely as he finished tying up his bandages, but those eyes were as guarded as always. 

“Whatever you require; for His Highness, I will obey.”

“I’m sure you would,” Claude replied passively, wiping the bloody dagger clean with an old cloth, “but you’re not my servant. And out of service as you are now, you’re not his servant, either.” The dagger was vaguely motioned in Dimitri’s direction, and the prince’s eye followed the gleam of the blade. Claude looked pensive, tapping the point of the dagger against his chin, and staring at the dusty, cobwebbed ceiling of the tower. “Did he ever believe you to be?”

That caught Dimitri’s attention, though the prince didn’t seem keen on answering, his eye foggy and regretful. Dedue tried to answer in his stead, but Claude was already shaking his head.

“Listen to me,” he laughed, “rambling! I’ve gotta stop getting distracted. We don’t have much more to do, anyway.” He lifted the knife. “Now, Your Princeliness, mind if I give you a haircut?”

Dimitri finally removed his gaze from the knife, settling on Claude’s face instead. “Do what you want,” he huffed, “don’t bother asking.”

Claude smiled, pinching a lock of the prince’s hair between his fingers. “Well, if I have His Royalness’s permission–”

“But _stop_ with the _childish names_ ,” Dimitri growled. His mood was souring, a sure sign that the prince had been in the company of others for too long.

Claude grinned tightly in response to the prince’s grouchiness. “As you wish,” he replied, but didn’t tease him further. He was likely aware that the prince was starting to lose himself once more. Swiftly and silently, he took the knife to a greasy lock of Dimitri’s hair and lopped it off, the action precise and clean. The prince rubbed at his scalp from where the lock was removed, his discomfort at the feeling showing more easily than any pain caused by the gash on his palm.

The Witch Doctor tied the hair in a knot and placed it upon the cot. He then pulled from his bag a small cup, and upon its clay surface were carved dozens of tiny runes that hummed slightly, their sound completely silent, but their vibrations caused the lines of the carvings to blur together and made them impossible to decipher. Claude held the cup in front of Dimitri’s face, his own face entirely serious as he met the prince’s gaze. Dimitri was transfixed, his irritation melting away momentarily as he marvelled at the Witch Doctor and the strange trinkets he brought with him.

“The ritual will begin shortly,” Claude announced. “Are you ready, Dimitri?”

The Beast Prince nodded, his eye dark as he stared back at Claude. “I am.”

“Good. Hold this.”

Dedue watched silently as Dimitri took the cup delicately with both hands, his eye widening slightly when the humming clay touched his skin. He only stared at it for a moment, before looking back to Claude, who had picked up the vial containing the glowing liquid.

The Witch Doctor closed his eyes for a moment, uncorking the vial and holding it above him with one hand. With the other hand, he picked up the lock of hair and lifted it alongside the Liquid Light. The very air around him seemed to shift, and that dangerous aura the man held around him strengthened tenfold.

Then Claude opened his eyes again, and he spoke.

His voice sounded no different than normal, but it was almost as if Dedue could not hear him. Instead, his words cut directly through flesh and bone and instead settled within his mind, as if Claude was speaking to his very soul. Dedue had no idea what language the witch was speaking, but he found he understood it perfectly, as if he had been speaking it since birth.

_“With this lock of golden hair, brimming with the colour of sunlight, I ask for it to help guide the Light through the Door of this man’s Mind, and into the Soul.”_

Slowly and deliberately, the witch placed the lock of hair into the cup that was held between Dimitri’s shaking hands. The prince had become rigid, tremors racking his body as he fought to keep his hands still. Dedue could almost feel what had affected him so much – the atmosphere had moved upon the Witch Doctor’s command, as if there was something invisible and _alive_ swimming in the air off the room, and it was looking for something.

Dedue had a feeling he knew what it was looking for.

Claude brought the vial of the glowing potion closer to the runed cup, and gently poured the contents inside. It did not splash like water, instead floating down like golden dust, as light as a feather, even though it was undeniably fluid. It whistled like the breeze off an exotic mountain, and swirled in place when it settled at the bottom of the cup.

_“With the golden lock’s guidance, may the Light pierce through the Darkness that, with wicked intent, has been implanted within the Soul of this man with a good Heart.”_

Upon his words, the lock of hair melted into the elixir, giving the glowing liquid a thicker and more substantial consistency. It now appeared far more reasonable to consider the contents of the cup a drink, now that the solid mass of the hair and the powdery, airy quality of the potion had molded together.

The terrifying being that swam unnoticed in the air had started to circle Dimitri. While Dedue was positive that it was intended to break the prince’s curse, at the moment the invisible creature felt exclusively treacherous towards his liege. He noticed a bead of sweat form on Claude’s eyebrow, and that was when he came to a realisation. An alarming one at that.

This magic was inherently dangerous. If anyone happened to misstep during this ritual, then it was possible that Dimitri would be torn to shreds.

Dimitri was shockingly calm in this situation. His body still shook like he’d seen a ghost, a totally involuntary response, but he still managed to keep the cup as still as possible. Outwardly, he did not react to the being that circled him, eager to feast, but Dedue knew that his liege was hyper aware of its presence.

Claude picked up the vial that contained Dedue’s blood, uncorking it and pouring its contents into the cup.

_“To prove the purity of this man’s Heart, I present blood willingly shed, spilled of their own volition by an ally who has devoted their life to his service.”_

The sheer amount of blood filled the cup to the brim. Upon Claude’s words, the blood and the golden liquid swirled together, the mixture darkening suddenly before a lighter blue hue spread through the potion. It was the entirely opposite colour that Dedue had expected the mixture to be, and it bubbled slightly like it had been heated above a fire. It looked like the blue sky itself had been poured into the cup and boiled for a short moment to soothe his liege’s throat.

In stark contrast to the calming nature of the potion Claude was creating, the unseen creature that circled Dimitri like a hawk had sped up its rotation, its proximity seemingly starting to squeeze the prince like a python meaning to strangle its prey. Dimitri had stopped breathing, holding his breath as if to not antagonise the being that was becoming increasingly hostile towards his person. Dedue stepped back slightly, to give his liege more room to breathe, and cast a quick glance to Claude, wondering if this turn of events – that this crushingly _virulent_ atmosphere – was normal. He felt his stomach sink like a stone.

Claude’s hands were shaking. This wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?

The Witch Doctor gently laid his shaking hands upon Dimitri’s own where they held the potion, guiding the cup to the prince’s lips. Dimitri drank from it slowly, shivering as the glowing sky blue elixir disappeared past his lips, and Claude spoke the last words of the ritual.

_“And may the Light be given to this man by none other than an enemy to him, a Witch that he fears no longer, and who does not fear him in return, their Souls existing together in peace and in harmony.”_

Dimitri swallowed the last remnants of the potion, staring back at Claude as he placed the cup on the bed.

They sat there in silence for a moment. The invisible being still swirled around Dimitri’s person, incessant and relentless as the prince continued to quietly struggle for breath. Dedue blinked, confused. His liege had drank the potion, wasn’t something supposed to happen–

**_“PROVE IT.”_ **

Claws gripped Dimitri’s chest as the prince suddenly cried out in agony, keeling over as he ducked his head to hide his pain. On instinct, Dedue ran towards his liege to help however he could, but found that a strange force prevented him from moving any closer, his boots slipping on the stone floor.

_“Your Highness!”_

Claude gripped Dimitri’s cloaked shoulders when the prince cried out again, his shout abated when the wind was torn from him harshly by the transparent creature crushing his lungs as it squeezed him painfully. The Witch Doctor’s face was wild with fear, and he called out to the disembodied voice that had spoken.

“‘Prove it?!’” Claude repeated frantically. “Prove _what?!_ Tell me!”

The strange voice called out once more, its intonations utterly indistinguishable. Dedue could not tell if it sounded high, low, or even human, but somehow, some way, he could understand every word.

_**“PROVE TO THE LIGHT THAT YOU LIVE IN PEACE.”** _

Claude seemed to be at a loss, panic coating his features as his fingers twisted around the fur of Dimitri’s cloak, pulling the prince close to his own body as if to protect him from the creature that was trying to asphyxiate him. “How do I do that? Is being here and trying to _heal him_ not enough already?!”

Dedue felt his heart sink at the sarcastic tone that Claude addressed the strange voice with – would Claude stop trying to _anger_ it, it was going to kill Dimitri! – but the disembodied voice did not dignify Claude’s question with a response.

“Claude!” Dedue called out before he did something rash. His liege’s life was on the line, and he couldn’t afford to allow the Witch Doctor to lose focus. He tried placating him the same way he would pacify the prince during his fits of panic, keeping his voice level and no louder than what was necessary to be heard. “You must calm yourself. To panic now would only serve to hinder you. Stay focused, and your path will be clear to you.”

Dimitri cried out once more, curling himself under Claude’s chin in agony. The Witch Doctor’s were wide as he looked towards Dedue before he inhaled slowly, setting a comforting hand atop the back of the prince’s head. He exhaled slowly afterward, closing his eyes as he let his panic wash away. He smiled at Dedue as his eyes opened once more, nodding at him appreciatively. 

“You’re right, Dedue,” he breathed shakily. “I think I know what to do now.”

Dedue watched closely, his heart thundering in his chest as Claude hands palmed each side of Dimitri’s head, pulling the prince’s face away from his chest to look him in the eye. Dimitri’s face was twisted with agony, and his claws pulled away from his own chest to grasp desperately at Claude’s shoulders.

“Don’t freak out,” the Witch Doctor warned him.

 _“Please,”_ the Beast Prince keened back.

Claude tucked a guiding finger under Dimitri’s chin and gently pressed their lips together.

Dedue was only able to see the prince’s eye widen in surprise before the light burst from Dimitri’s chest, so golden and blinding that Dedue was forced to recoil, shielding his eyes with an arm in front of his face. The light filled the room for many moments afterward before it tapered away slowly, allowing Dedue to lower his arm to witness the sight before him.

Dimitri’s hands, clawless and soft like an infant's, were pressed flat against Claude’s back as his arms hugged the smaller man close to his body. The scars that had been carved into his skin over the years had disappeared, replaced with smooth unblemished skin. Both of his eyes, including his right that had been restored to him, were closed in rapture as he crushed his lips against Claude’s, holding him tight as if he never wanted to let go. Claude’s hands caressed the prince’s cheeks softly, warmly, his brow set high upon his face like he’d been struck suddenly with an overwhelming passion he hadn't realised he had. Both of their faces were flushed a healthy cherry red, delighting in their newfound… what had they found? They couldn't possibly be in love, not so soon. Could they be? Dedue wasn't sure what he'd missed in the time they'd been here.

The two stayed like that for quite some time, lost in each other, breathing deeply through their noses. Dedue had not been expecting this, but he certainly did not disapprove. He'd had never seen his liege so peaceful before, not even while sleeping dreamlessly. However, as the silence dragged on, Dedue thought it best to clear his throat politely, catching both their attention.

Claude pulled away first, slowly, blinking as if trying to claw his way out of a drunken stupor. Dimitri, on the other hand, didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings at all, following Claude's retreating lips with his own.

"Your _Highness,_ " Dedue called to him, watching his liege jump as if he'd been doused with cold water, pulling away from Claude as his face turned red as tomato. The Witch Doctor in question looked back at him in awe, and they both stared at each other in silence. Very awkwardly.

Dedue spared them all by breaking the silence. "Is it done? Is the curse... truly broken?"

Dimitri's head swivelled to Dedue, his face akin to that of a lost lamb, before he stared at his own hands in wonder. 

"I…" the prince stuttered, "I-I don't know." Even his voice sounded different, lighter than it had been for all these years.

Claude seemed to find himself again, rubbing at his face before smiling cheerily again. "Well, there's only one way to find out, Your Princeliness. Mind opening those curtains, Dedue?"

Dedue fulfilled the request without hesitation, swiftly drawing back the drapes even as his liege flinched and instinctively moved to stop him.

"Wait–"

Light flooded the room once more, far gentler than the golden rays that had been used to break Dimitri's curse, but the prince recoiled from the light anyway, yelping as the glow hit his skin and throwing up his arms to shield his eyes. Dedue almost closed the curtains once more– was the prince not fully healed?

Dimitri wasn't screaming, however. There were no howls of anguish, no shrieks of agony. His arms were no longer in front of his face, lowering slowly as he stared out the window in awe at the afternoon sun.

And after all this time…

The curse was broken.

Contentment finally settled in Dedue's chest as Dimitri's eyes flooded with tears. Dedue did not move to comfort him, satisfied with letting the prince have a moment to himself. The prince curled in on himself slightly, pressing a hand to his face to muffle a choked sob.

Claude looked slightly lost, staring at Dimitri as if he wanted to do something. It was almost amusing, for someone like Claude to be able to perform a miracle and always appear so sure of himself, and then fumble when (a loved one?) someone he clearly cared about became distressed. Dedue decided it was best to catch his attention, and looked pointedly in Dimitri's direction. When Claude still seemed hesitant, he gave him his most reassuring nod.

That did the trick.

Claude approached the prince, slowly and cautiously, as if Dimitri were a wounded deer. Upon reaching his side, he placed a comforting hand on the weeping prince's back, shifting awkwardly as if he felt he didn't belong there. 

Dimitri responded with a bone-crushing hug.

Dedue chuckled as Claude let out a yelp, one hand moving to pet Dimitri's head while the other pushed at his suffocating arms. "Alright, alright I get it! I need to breathe, Your Cuddliness!"

Dimitri pulled back, wiping at his wet face with the back of his hand (Dedue would've offered him a napkin but it was in _Almyra_ _)_. The prince's head swivelled between Claude in his arms and Dedue standing a bit further back.

 _"Thank you,"_ Dimitri breathed. "Thank you both, for all you've done." Another stray tear fell from his eye, and he wiped it away with a soft, clawless finger. "This is the happiest day of my life. I could never repay you."

"For your peace of mind, Your Highness, I would do anything."

"Yeah– what he said. Don't worry about it, Dimitri."

The prince smiled gratefully at Dedue, before pulling Claude into another hug, crushing the poor man in his arms and burying his face into his dark hair.

Dedue couldn't help but fondly as Claude yelped once more, simultaneously trying to playfully push the prince away while also hugging him back, pulling Dimitri closer.

The prince had certainly grown attached to the Witch Doctor– so _quickly_ , too– and, if he was not mistaken, Claude seemed quite taken by the prince as well. Dedue had initially assumed that he'd head back to Almyra after this, that they'd part ways amicably and never meet again. But now…

Dedue supposed he better get used to having a Witch Doctor around.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *terrifying disembodied voice* SMOOCH I DARE YOU  
> cue Dedue being super happy but also pretty uncomfortable poor guy  
> "why are they kissing its been like ten minutes did i miss something"
> 
> my first posted fic!! I thought I'd never manage to finish one...  
> If there's any warnings you think I should've added, please let me know!  
> I've got more for dmcl week comin up, so I hope you enjoyed this!  
> My twitter is 


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